Lost Page
by fanficah0lic
Summary: ... What if there was a page missing from the book? School project to write one page to add to the book. between chapter 16 and 17. First fanfic so please read and give me constructive criticism! Better than it sounds I hope . Rated for language.


End of chapter 16 - Then a funny thing happened

**Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own the plot or characters. ****Italics are directly from the book – this is so that it is clear where this passage occurs in the story. **

**Hope you enjoy!! Please no flames … it's my first fanfiction. I would appreciate constructive criticism so that I can write better pieces in the future. **

_End of chapter 16 - Then a funny thing happened. When I got to the museum, al__l of a sudden I wouldn't have gone inside for a million bucks. It just didn't appeal to me – and here I'd walked through the whole goddam park and looked forward to it and all. If Phoebe'd been there, I probably would have, but she wasn't. So all I did, in front of the museum, was get a cab and go down to the Biltmore. I didn't feel much like going. I'd made that damn date with Sally though. _

On the way to the Biltmore, I began thinking about how I'd have gone in if Phoebe'd been there and all. I'd been to that museum almost every Saturday in Miss Aigletinger's class. I probably could've given Phoebe all the info she needed from the museum for the whole goddam year. The thought depressed me – Phoebe not being able to experience the museum differently every time she visited. She is such a great kid she deserves the chance to experience everything.

I would've liked to have seen her though. And give her the record – Wednesday seemed so far away and it would've killed her. Estelle Fletcher really sang it well. I know I'm not the most responsible person and I wanted to give it to her before I lost or broke it.

All of a sudden, I began to think of the lady who always sat in the entrance hall of the museum. She was a real phoney not like the guards at all. Probably the only bad bit in the whole museum. Thinking of her really depressed me. She always said, 'Hello children', in this really patronising voice – like when little kids are being mean to each other and tell each other, 'I know something you don't know'. Those kinda kids shouldn't be allowed, they just ruin everything.

I thought about Jane then too. If she had been there, I wouldn't have minded going into the museum either. I would be able to show her the canoe which is as long as three Cadillacs and the baskets. I think she would like the way the Indian women wove their baskets. She would be able to do it just as well as they did. I mean, she's not great with her hands or anything but she would attack it just like the way she plays checkers. I wanted to call her. Looking around I spotted a phone booth on the corner of the next street. I asked the cab driver if he would stop and wait for me while I called. When we reached the corner I had talked him into letting me have five minutes on the phone. It took a lot of persuasion, telling the guy he was great. But when I got out of the cab – I didn't feel like calling her. You have to be in the mood to call people and all. What if her mother picked up? Or even worse, what if she was out with Stradlater? I didn't even know if she was back for the holidays yet. So I got back in the cab without calling Jane. The cab driver asked me why I had put him through all that if I wasn't even going to use the phone anyways. I told him another load of rubbish, how he was a great driver and should see if he couldn't get a job as a race car driver and all that.

Since I had so much time and the cab driver was irritated after the whole phone thing, I asked him to drop me off at a drug store. I wasn't really thirsty but I bought a malted anyway. As I walked down the road towards the Biltmore, drinking, I put on my hunting hat again. It gave me comfort, the kind that Phoebe gave me too, the kind that Phoebe and Jane both need, the familiar feeling, the feeling that children need in their lives. I don't know if you understand this feeling, I don't know if you want to. It made me depressed thinking about all those children missing the feeling of comfort, of safeness, of happiness.

_Chapter 17_

_I was early when I got there, so I just sat down on one of those leather couches next to the clock in the lobby and watched the girls. A lot of schools were home for the vacation already and there were about a million girls sitting and standing around waiting for their dates to show up. Girls with their legs crossed, girls with their legs not crossed, girls with swell legs, girls with lousy legs, girls that looked like swell girls, girls that looked like bitches if you really knew them. It was really nice sightseeing in a way, if you know what I mean. In a way, sort of depressing, too, because you kept wondering what the hell would happen to all of them. _


End file.
